A Postcard from the City

Bentham Station

"We need to get out, have a change a scene!"

My wife's words rang true for all of us.  We've had a a fairly stressful time of late and so a day out in Leeds we agreed, was just the thing.

We boarded our train for the 90 minute journey to be greeted by the tale tale signs of Football Supporters.  Their white, yellow and blue Leeds United scarves wrapped tightly round their necks gave them away.  Fortunately these were fairly calm examples of the species.  More late middle aged than young, with no lager cans in sight.  The journey was uneventful aside from the steam gala attracting crowds at Keighley station.  Families and spotters braving the snowy conditions, with their cameras preparing to take the KWVR to Haworth for a look around the Bronte parsonage.

Leeds was busy.  It was a Saturday with the usual shopping crowds rampaging through Trinity Shopping Centre. The queues in Primark were snaking around the reductions displays.

We repaired to a well known bakers for a pastry covered snack.  Eldest sons steak bake was filled with magma.  He fought a valiant battle between agony and hunger and eventually it was consumed.  Time for a drink.

First we indulged in a brief cocktail.  An expensive pastime for those of us more used to drinking pints.  Next on to a standard pub, if of course we could find one.  The city centre pubs were rammed with shoppers and football supporters.  In some places we couldn't even get near the bar.  We ended up standing shoulder to shoulder with many others in a tiny historic city centre hostelry.  

Whitelock's Ale House is apparently the oldest pub in Leeds.  Tucked away between Briggate and Lands Lane, it retains an original wooden panelled Victorian interior, with plenty of stained glass and a copper topped bar.  The beer was good and there was a friendly atmosphere.  Trouble was there was barely enough room to raise a glass to the mouth.  We would love to have stayed longer but we couldn't move.  We fought our way to the exit and moved on.

The Old Luncheon Bar Whitelock's Ale House

The Italian restaurant we had chosen was Riva Blu.  This was once a Gino D' Acampo restaurant, but was rebranded, against the TV chefs wishes, in January 2022.  The food was good and the service attentive but not intrusive.  Some reviews have said that the food is overpriced for the quality, but for a city centre restaurant we felt the price was reasonable, and the quality very good. My steak was beautifully cooked and cost £25 which is pretty much the going rate.

As crowds thinned we tried a couple more pubs, but soon enough we had to head back to the station for the train home.  Living in the wilds means the last train leaves just after 7pm.  We had a quiet trip back and decided to stop for a nightcap at the local.

Here we were welcomed by our fellow locals and sat quietly in the corner reflecting on the day.  We were approached by some visitors.

One of these was someone that had once worked with my wife's father.  They happily chatted about Preston and memories of her late mum.  His companion was different entirely.

The gentleman in question was in his late forties.  Bald with a large bushy beard.  His eyes were like pinpricks and he spoke at a breath taking rate.  I suspected he may have taken some sort of stimulant, legal or otherwise.  His first words were a poor start:

"Why do you live in a place like this?  There's nothing going on its s***!"

I smiled and explained that having lived in London, and in other big cities, living in the country side was a much nicer proposition, particularly for our children.

He ignored the answer and continued to criticise our town, its people and the caravan site on which he was staying.  He made sure to point out that he was fantastically well off and that the caravan his husband had taken their three children back to was about half the size of the kitchen in his six bedroom mansion north of Manchester.

He then started a character assassination of someone who is a good friend of ours.  According to this arrogant soul everyone in town hated our friend.  He and his wife were the lowest sort of scum and the fact they had moved away was good riddance.  He was then at pains to point out he didn't know the guy personally, but it was a joke that he had been profiled in the local paper.

I pointed out that I had written the article.

He continued claiming more and more outlandish things about our friend.  He owed large amounts to money to dodgy people.  He couldn't run a bath let alone his business.  The lecture was getting very tiresome.

My wife snapped first.  She pointed out that if he didn't know the man in question, why was he spreading unsubstantiated rubbish about him?  There was certainly no truth to the accusations that were being levelled at our friend.  Moreover the name dropping of other people we know well to support his baseless claims were a nonsense.

He then called my wife mad and continued his diatribe against our friend.  At this point I'd had enough.  I stood up and told him that I would not tolerate him talking to my wife that way.  I said that I found his tone arrogant and offensive.  That he should not be spreading baseless rumours about someone he didn't know and that my wife and I would be going as we'd had enough of his company.

He stood up and started poking me in the chest.

"You're erratic, don't start on me, why are you starting on me?  Sit down, sit down or you'll regret it!"

As I stared him down, the barman stepped in and took the guy to one side.  We left and went home.

Having survived the dangerous bright lights of the city, it was ironic that I should have to come home to get threatened by a drunk.  To be fair it's the first time since 1993, so I'm happy with a once in 30 year record.

Oh and the Leeds result?  They drew 1-1 with Brighton.